


Strange Addiction

by MissFreakingFortune



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Dancer Rey (Star Wars), Doctor Ben Solo, Doctor/Patient, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Engineer Rey (Star Wars), Eventual Smut, F/M, Gen, Las Vegas Wedding, Mentions of addiction, POV Ben Solo, POV Kylo Ren, POV Rey (Star Wars), Protective Ben Solo, Protective Kylo Ren, Rey Needs A Hug (Star Wars), Reylo - Freeform, ReyloAU, Star Wars AU - Modern Reylo, Starwars - Freeform, Surgery, agedifferencebutnotmuch, idon'tthinki'mdoingthistagthingright, les vegas, pagingdr.organasolo, surgeonbensolo, takodana'sanatomy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:54:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29548236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissFreakingFortune/pseuds/MissFreakingFortune
Summary: Hey guys,Trying out a little Reylo AU. Ben's a doctor and Rey's a dancer. I wouldn't say it's an enemies-to-lovers trope but there is for sure some weird tension in the beginning, once Ben realizes what a shite patient Rey can be.This is my first Reylo fic, and my first time posting on this site. So drop a line if this story ends up doing anything for you. :)-MF
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	1. Dancer

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys,   
> Trying out a little Reylo AU. Ben's a doctor and Rey's a dancer. I wouldn't say it's an enemies-to-lovers trope but there is for sure some weird tension in the beginning, once Ben realizes what a shite patient Rey can be.   
> This is my first Reylo fic, and my first time posting on this site. So drop a line if this story ends up doing anything for you. :) 
> 
> -MF

* * *

Rey couldn’t remember the last time she’d visited a doctor’s office. The sterility of the white linoleum, the alabaster walls, and the fluorescent lighting reminded her of why- it was all too harsh, too stringent. She avoided these establishments, where everyone stared and securitizing- wondering what was wrong with you to be in this place. But in the triple digits heat of a Las Vegas summer, Rey had been shivering inside a thick, Christmas-colored LL-Bean fleece for days now. Last night she wasn’t able to complete her shift at the Crazy Horse club. Usually nimble and poised in six-inch stilettos, Rey had stumbled across the stage like a drunk, the flashing lights and music disorienting her. When there was a brief intermission the manager had barked at her to either get it together or get out. On her way out the door, she stopped to collect her tips- but for the first time since she’d started stripping at the Crazy Horse- there were none. She hated her manager, she hated the Crazy Horse, and she hated her job, but the sooner she was back on stage, the sooner she was making money and able to pay her eclectic bill- not to mention ever approaching rent. It was a dark realization that dawned on her when she’d realize she’d need medical treatment to accomplish this.  
  
There was a swift rap at the door. She was about to call out, “come in” when the impatient taps ended abruptly, and a tall figure emerged in the doorframe.  
“I’m Dr. Organa-Solo.” He came in and sat down at the computer so fast she could hardly respond.  
“Rey.” She managed- it hurt too much to talk anyway. From what she could see of Dr. Organa-Solo he was tall, abnormally so. He had to adopt an awkward hunch in his back to get level with the tiny computer. He had unruly black curls that he wore long and uncut that covered his ears and dusted his eyebrows. His dark hair hung down his long, angled, face and into his dark eyes. which could have been the reason she saw the popup “Incorrect password” spring to the computer screen. She thought she heard him mutter “shit” and then a barrage of long fingers attacked the keyboard, punching and mashing until the error message disappeared. Satisfied, he swiveled on his stool to turn to her, pushing a few black strands out of his eyes and back into the wild pile of waves behind his head.  
  
“Rey, what brings you in tonight?”  
She was surprised he remembered her name- her voice had been so hoarse and he so hurried. “It’s my throat.” She managed to choke out. “It’s been on fire since Tuesday.”  
His brow dipped in concern at the sound of her voice and he rose from the small stool. “You sound bad.”  
He placed an unexpected hand to her forehead, and his large palm, which could have engulfed her entire face, was cool against her flushed skin. “How long have you had a fever?”  
She shrugged as a chill passed through her. “A few days.”  
From the wall, he pulled a thermometer and quickly snapped on a cover. “Have you taken anything for it? Tylenol? Advil?”  
She shook her head as he pressed the instrument past her lips and into her mouth. “Under your tongue” His voice was low as he gave her the standard instructions. With his free hand, he began punching at single keys, one at a time. It must be nice to have such a wingspan.  
  
It felt like forever before the thermometer beeped and he spun back around to remove the instrument. His brow furrowed some at the reading,  
“Impressive. High score for the evening.” He noted, “One oh two point seven. Explains your choice of fleece on a ninety-degree night.”  
“So it's not just cold in here, it's me?”  
He nodded. “It's you,” and then produced a tongue depressor and a flashlight from his deep side pocket. She couldn’t help but notice that in the shallower chest pocket a half-eaten nutrigrain bar was visible. _Professional._ He extended a long finger under her jaw and tilted her chin up higher to the light. She wondered if he could feel her pulse thrumming under his fingertips. _Of course_ , she admitted to herself, _he is a doctor_.  
“Open for me” he muttered as he parted her lips with the small blade. His dark eyes swung side to side, examining the back of her inflamed throat. She stifled a gag as he removed the depressor and tossed it in the trash.  
“You’ve got exudate oozing from your tonsils and a blazing fever-” He told her, “Classic strep.” He removed the stethoscope from around his neck and motioned to her hoodie. “Take off your festive Land's End Christmas sweater.” He ordered, amusement ripe in his voice as he pressed the soft buds of the instrument into his ears. She glared up at him, eye narrowing, for insulting her garment adorned with green and red reindeer with pom-pom noses.  
“it's LLBean...” She thought she noticed a hint of a smile on his long lips at her retort as he placed one hand on her back and pressed the other to her chest.  
“Yeah, and it’s also July.” She recoiled at the icy metal which felt like frostbite on her heated skin, and her breath hitched in her chest.  
“Sorry,” He muttered, “Should’ve warned you it's cold.” She shivered, and his large hands steadied her, holding her straight and upright instead of allowing her to curve forward as she shook.  
“Deep breath.” He commanded, adjusting the placement of the stethoscope's bell. She watched as he closed his eyes, listening. “Again.” With each inhale from her that he demanded, his hand moved, further down her chest and across the span of her ribcage. His irreverent fingertips grazed her breast, which made her draw in a quick breath he hadn't asked her for. Her nipple hardened. She hadn't been touched in so long, but he seemed not to notice what his large fingers had just ghosted. His other hand remained on her back, stilling her against the shaking chills.  
  
Finally, he drew back and circled the stethoscope around his neck once more. “The good news is I don't think you have any respiratory or cardiac complications from this strep infection.” She nodded, somewhat distracted by the tingling she felt in her nipples. “But- because this has been brewing for a few days and untreated strep can cause heart problems- I want you to come back for a cardiac ultrasound in a week.” His fingers bombardment the keyboard more furious typing. There was some deep-set aggression he took out on that computer rather than a therapist. “I just sent in a seven-day prescription for an antibiotic. You may start feeling better but be sure to finish all the tablets.”  
“So when can I go back to work?”  
“What do you do?” He asked her, his dark gaze not shifting from the screen “If you are doing desk-based labor or working from home-”  
She cut him off- it was far better just to say it and get the embarrassment over with. “I'm a dancer.”  
He paused and glanced up at her, looking somewhat confused. “Like, with a ballet?”  
She couldn't help but give him an incredulous glare. “No, like with a club.”  
He looked slightly dazed, his eyes far off and unfocused, but then shook his head sending his black hair flying. “Either way, no, you can't go back to work. No dancing. No physical activity. Not until you follow up and get that cardiac ultrasound.” He stared her straight in the face and his voice was low and commanding. “You need to go home and rest. You need to drink plenty of fluids and stay in bed for the next few days. Soup. Gatorade. Sleep. Do you understand me?”  
“Sure. But I need a note for work- and for school.”  
“What are you in school for?” This she could say with pride. She was only attending part-time, but her grades were stellar and if she kept it up she would graduate with honors in only another year. “Mechanical engineering.”  
He nodded, and she could tell he kept his features taut in an effort not to looked surprised. “Many talents.”  
“One which pays for the other.” She noted- her tone flat.  
  
He pulled out a naked iphone from his white coat and quickly pressed a speed dial number. “Hey, get me one standard work and school note for strep.” There wasn't time for the voice on the other end to reply before he had ended the call. He looked back, and she tried not to shiver as his eyes swept over her.  
“I'm not keen on your driving home. Is there anyone you can call?”  
She was shaking her head already and extending her hands in protest against his voice that exuded authority. “No, no. I'll be fine.”  
His lips formed a tight line as he picked up the iphone again, “Thought you might say that.” Her large eyes widened in horror as he punched a few numbers and held the phone up to his face, his gaze not leaving hers. “Yeah, hey, Myra this is Dr. Ben Solo with Summerlin Medical Center I'm calling about Rey.”  
Rey sighed, exasperated, and heard the crackling of Myra's voice through the static. “She's okay, but she's pretty sick. Bad case of strep. I don't want her driving-”  
Rey was shaking her head at him. In fact, she was pretty sure she could say _something_ , to _someone_ , since she had told him she didn't want him to contact anyone. This was some type of violation, and he had the audacity to commit it right in front of her- probably because he knew how terrible she felt. Outwardly, she did her best to appear frustrated with him, as he spoke, _unauthorized_ , to her best friend. But relief flooded her that she didn't have to navigate the glaring lights and curling intersections on the interstate with this throbbing headache.  
  
“Yep, straight to bed. Lots of Gatorade.” His voice was low and steady in the receiver. “Great. Thanks.” The call ended with three signature beeps, and the phone was tucked back away in his pocket next to the partially consumed, almost certainly stale, nutrigrain bar.  
“Good emergency contact.” He commented, closing out the numerous tabs open in the electronic medical record. “She'll be here in ten to pick you up. Follow up in one week.” He instructed, unphased by Rey’s attempted glowering. “The secretary will have a note for you at the front and can help you make the appointment with family medicine.”  
“Is the appointment going to be with you?” As soon as she said it, she realized her retort sounded stupid- she was too delirious for flaming comebacks. This lanky, irreverent, jerk worked in the E.D.  
He shook his head and pointed to the embroidery on the breast of his lab coat. “No, because I don't work in family medicine. I work in the Emergency Department."  
“Right. Well-” She paused, and the silence was awkward as he waited for her to finish. “Thanks.”  
He shrugged, lifting his broad shoulders to his overly sized ears. “I treat what comes in the door.” From the floor, he gathered up her sweater and purse. Then, extended a hand to her to help her off the exam table. She was embarrassed by how tightly she gripped it to steady herself. He guided her back into the Christmas sweater and then hooked the purse straps around her shoulder. The kindness of the gesture surprised her, and she felt more heat flood into her already flushed cheeks.  
He motioned to the desk a few yards beyond the door. “Check out-and get to bed.”  
She held up a hand in salute as she marched towards the exit.  
“No dancing!” He called to her; a rueful smile overtook his lips. “And no designing anything that could blow up!”  
  
She didn't look back at him, but his joke had drawn a stupid grin from her too.

* * *


	2. Soulless

Ben sat hunched over another computer in the workroom, clacking away at one of his many unfinished notes. A lukewarm cup of coffee was within arm’s reach beside him, only half consumed. On a typical night, he had every note, on every patient, composed, signed, and attested before he strode out the doors and into the sunrise to go home and sleep. Tonight, he felt dazed as he stared into the bright screenlight. Spacey. Not in complete control. He hadn’t felt this way since residency. He hadn’t _allowed_ this feeling since the incident involving his prominent nose and a never-ending white line of the nicest cocaine his meager salary could afford.   
  
Ironic, considering he had been a cardiothoracic surgery resident. And not just any resident, one of the “most promising cardiothoracic interns to enter the program” the dean had assured his parents, both renowned surgeons, upon his acceptance into the program. Then, it had all caught up with him like a hurricane on the horizon he had allowed to overtake him in a slow churn- the drugs, the pressure to perform, the lack of sleep and self-care in the constant quest to remain at the top of his class. His large hands, usually still and steadfast, started to tremble in long cases- a visceral reaction to only hours of abstinence. He found himself retreating the bathroom to snort a line and then scrubbing back into surgery hyperstimulated, fingers suturing at superhuman speed, like a video set in fast-forward. They found the evidence in his urine at a random drug screening. He was removed from the program immediately, but everyone whispered that he would be back. His family was too important to the university for him not to graduate a board-certified surgeon, albeit one addicted to blow. But they didn’t know about his complex relationship with his parents. Maybe they didn’t know that he wouldn’t have come back if asked- his fall from grace had been from too high. He would have been a walking insult to everyone who was grinding through the program the clean way, balancing the sacrifices without the right last name.   
  
So he disappeared to rehab. His parents called and texted, constantly attempting to communicate- but he found he was too angry to respond. They had hounded him from the youngest age for performance in music, sports, school and whatever other hobby he dared to pick up. Valedictorian was an expected requirement and an Ivy League medical school was a necessity. He was not only going to be a doctor, but a surgeon- and he was going to be an even more accomplished surgeon than either of them. Rehab taught him the value of self-reflection and setting boundaries- enhancing his already solitary nature. After a year of sobriety, he had applied for a position working as an emergency medicine physician, at this shit hospital, on a shit shift, for which the position had been vacant for nearly six months. He wanted it all back so bad sometimes. His fingers moving at warp speed to open the chest cavity, the adrenaline of watching a pale heart flush red with returned life. Hearts were mechanical- like working on a washing machine or a car. Emergency medicine was messy. Chaotic. Involved. It was highway pileups and dangling limbs, it was heart attacks and hell-raising drunks, it was raging infections and objects stuffed in butts. But it was a job with financial security and physical distance of his parents on the east coast. So, four years later, he was still here, staring into the glare of his screen in the early hours of the morning.   
  
A flurry of motion and sound beside him shook him from his stupor and he glanced over his shoulder to see Finn, the intern, collapsing into the workstation beside him, papers scattering everywhere and energy drink spilling onto the linoleum floor.   
Ben swiveled slightly in his seat, blinking at the younger physician. “You good, chief?” Finn struggled to retrieve his papers and right his can of Monster-speaking in short bursts. “Just picked up out there. Need your help. What have you been doing all night?”   
Ben yawned and moved the mouse to keep his computer from falling asleep. “Not busy on this side yet.”   
Finn slid a paper to him containing a list of patients and their room numbers. “Can we run the list? Dr. Hux is swamped.”   
Ben scoffed and scooted closer to Finn, shooting him a knowing look. “Doesn’t take much does it?”   
“Nope.” Finn’s gaze was pleading. He looked like he had endured a hectic night.   
Ben’s heart softened a bit, knowing he had survived many rough nights manning the ER with the assistance of a supportive attending.“What have you got?”   
Finn motioned to the list, “1A- laceration. Rose is currently stitching. Will discharge tonight on antibiotics.”   
Ben nodded, opening the patient’s chart on his computer and added his attestation. “Sounds good- I’ll sign off.”   
Finn continued with a motion to the next space on the paper. “1B- Chest pain. Troponins are negative. EKG unremarkable. Chest xray looks like pneumonia- patient’s seventy.”   
Ben took a sip of his old coffee and grimaced at the stale and bitter taste. “Admit him and get cultures.”   
Finn nodded and scribbled on the paper. “Next up. Abdominal pain- CT scan is complete. Shows a ventral hernia. No signs of incarceration or strangulation. Do you want to consult surgery?”   
Ben glanced down at his watch to find it was only half-past three in the morning and shook his head. “No, send him home with a referral.” He signed the chart while giving Finn a pointed look. “Surgery will put you on their shit list if you consult them for something asymptomatic so early in the morning.”   
Finn chuckled and scrawled on the paper again. “Noted. Next up is 2B- young female with strep.”   
  
How could he forget? She had been so pathetic- shaking sick and bone tired. For some strange reason, he had wanted to hug her, to transfer some of his heat to her shivering body, and tell her it would all be okay. He never had the urge to hug _anyone_. Her eyes, which had been glazed over with fatigue, were a profound green that was impossibly faceted. They sparked and glinted like a gemstone, depending on the angle of the light, and possessed a depth he couldn’t possibly fathom in one glance. Her hair was dark, though not as dark as his own, a soft and comforting brown, like polished mahogany wood or a freshly made cup of medium roast. Her face had been so wide open and expressive, devoid of walls or defenses. He wasn’t sure he’d seen a face like hers before. He wasn’t sure he ever would again.   
Where the hell had she come from? He had been minding his own business, _functioning_ in this existence, not the one he had been destined for- but the one he had clawed back to achieve. And all it took was her face to distract him from it- from the careful rhythm and routine he had procured for himself. Nothing shook him from his carefully curated schedule- admittedly, he was too afraid to sway far from known pathways he had worked so hard travel.   
  
His sense of self-preservation was unparalleled. He would cut off anyone he felt had any potential to derail him, or anyone who asked too much from him. Ben had broken up with his previous girlfriend because she had suggested they move in together. She was kind and outgoing- but she wanted wild parties and late morning sunglass-ed brunches on expensive terraces. She wanted spontaneous trips across the county. She wanted more connection. Ben wanted to stay stable. He knew what he was. Unavailable. Selfish. " _Fucking soulless_ "- that particularly embittered ex had accused. That shaking, glinting-eyed girl- she was a flashing, electric pink sign in the desert screaming " _soul._ " She was neon in the darkness. He was just the black itself. And he could swallow her up if allowed- all at once and with no self-control.   
  
“Solo?” Ben glanced up to see Finn giving him a concerned stare. “You ok?” Ben shook his head at a pace that was almost violent. What the hell was wrong with him? Maybe she had infected him with her awful step. Whatever it had been, she had drained and exhausted him, merely by existing in the same small exam room as he had.   
  
Ben cleared his throat, attempting to shake off the silence. “Yeah, uh- took care of that one. She’s gone. One week of penicillin and a follow up with cardiac ultrasound.”   
  
The pager he wore at his hip began to sound off and vibrate, gyrating around the lose waistband of his scrub pants. His response was trained and Pavlovian, immediately standing and reaching for the device.   
  
“MVC trauma.” Finn stated, also moved into motion by the little black beaconing device. “ETA 5 minutes."   
  
With a wordless look, both physicians broke out into a run towards the trauma bay. Ben hoped this bloody catastrophe would be a welcome distraction.


	3. Fever Dream

“Was he hot?” Myra demanded as she sped down the interstate, her gaze on Rey in the passenger seat and not the road. “Well, was he?”  
Rey groaned and threw her pounding head back into the seat, exasperated by her friends’ line of questioning “Sure. I guess? He was really tall but very demanding. Intense face.”  
"So, are we talking more of a six or an eight?" Myra momentarily turned her attention to the road before eyeing Rey again. “ Oh my god! Was he a _ten_? Tall guys always get like two extra points.”  
Rey shivered and turned it into an impromptu shrug. “I don’t even know.” She had never seen a face like his before- all angles and edges, defenses and fortifications. Unreadable and unbreachable. His golden eyes were guarded by a distinguished brow and razor-cut cheekbones. He had kept on brushing back handfuls of black hair, attempting to contain the disobedient waves behind an ear. His elongated, soft lips were set underneath a prominent nose, which, like the rest of him was large and slightly crooked. His uniqueness had unnerved her, and she could not deny that something about him caused her heart to speed.  
“He had a good voice,” Myra noted, flipping on the turn signal. “Deep. He definitely _sounded_ tall.”  
  
Rey had noticed this too as he had been issuing commands to her- take a deep breath, open for me, how low and dominant his tone was. He exuded authority, and she thought that he probably wasn't used to being told no or being stood up to.  
“I think I may have annoyed him,” Rey murmured, burrowing further down into her sweater. “He didn’t say very much. He was brief.” She made a mental note of the upcoming stoplight as proof that they had made forward progress and were approaching their apartment. Myra’s incessant, inessential, questioning seemed to continue forever.  
“Maybe he doesn’t like people,” Myra suggested, bringing the car to an abrupt, skidding stop. Rey felt her stomach lurch, sure she would be sick before the ride was over.  
“Why bother becoming a doctor if you don’t like people?” She managed, before placing a hand over her mouth.  
Myra’s head swiveled to her and concern was evident on her expressive face. “Are you going to throw up in this car?”  
Rey glared up at her. “Maybe! If we don’t get home in a few minutes.”  
She felt her body being pulled slightly backward as the car accelerated, Myra’s foot hard on the gas pedal. “I’m sorry you feel like shit.”  
Rey couldn’t help but grin. “I’m sorry you drive like shit.”  
Myra scowled. “This turned out to be a really bad week for me to move. Maybe I should-”  
Rey reached for her hand and found it on the gearshift. “There is nothing more important than you getting to Seattle.” At the end of the week, Myra was leaving the electric wasteland that was Vegas to attend law school at the University of Washington after taking pre-requisites at community college and stripping to afford tuition. Her entrance essay, unironically, had been about how her work as an erotic performer had made her passionate about championing women’s rights in the workplace- no matter the setting was a fancy high-rise or a piece of shit club like the Crazy Horse. Rey was the proudest friend in existence- so excited for Myra she had no room within herself for self-pitying emotions like apprehension or sadness at her best friend’s relocation.  
“You know I can’t stand to leave you here alone.”  
“I will be just fine.” Rey told her, “And hopefully, I’ll be able to move up after graduation.”  
Myra smiled, the dashboard light illuminating her open mouth and unsheathed teeth. “Together again.”  
  
The car pulled into the driveway, and Rey stumbled out of the vehicle, making a break for the front door. Myra followed close behind, bags of Gatorade and medications hanging from her forearms. Rey shouldered in the door and stripped off her clothes, leaving them in a pile on the kitchen floor. She practically leaped into her bed, relishing the softness that surrounded her aching body. She drew the covers tight around her chilled frame, leaving only her chin and face exposed to the outside air. Myra bustled in a few moments later and sat down on the bed. She handed Rey a large blue Gatorade and placed one of the antibiotic tablets in her hand. Rey gulped the pill down with half the bottle, chugging like she had been playing an exertional sport.  
Myra watched her with surprise. “I’m glad we bought plenty of those. I have some soup warming up on the stove.”  
Rey shook her head and shifted in bed. “I can’t eat right now. Really.”  
“You should try.”  
Her stomach felt volatile, waves of nausea passing over her. “I’m not hungry at all.”  
“He said you should have soup.” Myra pulled a crumpled paper out of her back pocket and smoothed it out, motioning to a specific line of text. “It literally says so right here.”  
Rey shot her friend an exasperated look. “We don’t have to do everything he says.”  
“I’ll let the soup slide- but you will go to your follow-up appointment with him. That’s not negotiable.”  
  
Rey rolled her eyes at her friend, “It’s with someone different.” She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed that she wouldn’t see him again. Him, Ben Oragami-Solo-Cup, with his redwood frame, shaggy dark hair, and steady hands. He had been studying her, like a piece of modern art or an abstract sculpture, guarded gaze scrutinizing every part of her from behind unbreachable defenses. It was hard not to wonder what he had found. What deductions he had drawn up about her from his assessment?  
  
Myra prodded her in the side with the remote, dropping the subject and clicking on TV. “Want to watch Real Housewives?”  
Rey grinned up at her, “Of course.” Myra snuggled down into the bed with her friend and the TV came to life with images of tan women in short dresses screaming at each other in a wine bar. Rey smiled to herself at the soft sound of Myra’s laughter, the heat of the comforter surrounding her, and the sweet taste of blue Gatorade on her lips.  
  
She felt herself drifting, contented, further towards unconsciousness. When she saw him again, His image intruded into her mind, unexpected but not entirely unwelcome- his pale and speckled face appearing against the darkness of her tightly closed eyes.  
  
It must have been a fever dream. Why else would she have his visage in soft focus as she slipped off into sleep?


	4. Early

As if her week couldn’t get any worse- Rey woke up to find her underpants drenched in blood, her period having started a few days early. But it did get worse. She threw open the cabinet in the bathroom where she kept all manner of feminine necessities to find she had exactly one tampon left. Which brought her here, to that dreaded aisle in Targer, early on a Thursday morning. Her eyes shifted from box to box- what did she feel like this month? Super? Super plus? The embarrassingly but undeniably more attractive colorful Kotex tampons? She was particularly intrigued by the stylish container proclaiming the benefits of the organic, cotton, reusable napkins that were better for the environment. Wait, wasn’t that just a waist-less diaper? There were also boxes of some new pads made entirely from bamboo fibers that were vegan, all-natural, and _cloudlike._  
  
She yawned up into the fluorescence fill light of the supermarket, one hand reaching for a box of tampons, the other retrieving the novelty bamboo pads- unable to quell her curiosity. They were cloudlike, ok? Suddenly, she was hit in the back with something hard and metal, like a fucking shopping cart. In surprise, she lost her grip on the packages of female products and they went flying to the floor. She whipped around, ready to unleash her raging hormones on the blithering fool who had rammed her. She was stunned to find Ben Solo, phone held to his ear, pager in the other hand, haphazardly pushing the offending buggy with only his forearms. He wore the standard green scrubs that he had when she first met him, but without the crisp, white coat. His hair fell in a mess of dark waves that almost grazed his shoulders. His gaze locked with hers, and the hand that held the pager lowered in surprise. “Shit! I have to go.” He muttered into the phone, quickly stuffing it into the pocket of his scrub pants.  
  
He stared over at her and at her and held large hands up in apology. “I am really sorry.” Rey wasn’t sure if she should verbally assault him for butting her with his poorly controlled shopping cart. The dark circles under his somewhat bloodshot eyes, indicated to her he was fresh off a full shift. This, and the way his full lips downturned slightly- almost like a pout, tempered her response. What would have been a full-fledged, rage-induced, hormone-powered lecture, became a stern warning.  
“You should watch where you are going!” Rey told him, as he bent down to the floor, apparently ignoring her. Before she realized what he was doing, before she could protest, he retrieved the packages from the floor. It was less than ideal, she thought, that now he knew the exact piece of extra absorbent fluff she shoved in her vagina each month.  
  
He held the box of bamboo pads out to her first. “Organic and cloudlike.” He remarked, as she snatched them out of his open hand and tossed them into her cart.  
She sneered at him, “Hand over the tampons.”  
He did as commanded, and she tossed those into the cart too where her tubs of Ben and Jerry’s sat melting. He was doing that thing again, she noticed. His dark eyes sweeping up and down all five foot and seven inches of her like some sort of full-body scanner, some sort of ionizing assessment.  
“You look better.”  
  
Of course, Rey remembered, realizing she was one of those people with no shame who trudged to Walmart in her pajamas. But not her cute pajamas with little moons and sheep- her tattered, long sleeve – t-shirt, and fuzzy shorts that hung off her hips. It was raining, so she had gathered her hair into a chaotic high bun, threw on her rubber rainboots, and dashed for the store.   
“Well, as I’m sure you have figured out- I’m on my period now- so I still feel like shit but for a different reason.”  
Ben nodded, leaning slightly towards her. A heady rush of pine, mint, and black pepper flooded her nostrils. The spicy aroma made her head spin today, just as it had in the small exam room. There was no one else on the aisle but he kept his voice low, almost a growl, and the sound made her shiver.  
“Were you early?”  
Her eyes dilated, growing to saucer size as he spoke. How the hell did he know this?  
She couldn’t help but nod. “Yeah,” she breathed, affirming his suspicions.  
“It’s the antibiotics” He informed, “Sometimes, they disrupt a cycle, interrupt ovulation.”  
  
She almost wanted to keel over from embarrassment. Meeting Ben Solo at 7:00 AM in her ragged pajamas and oversized rain boots was not on her list of things to accomplish today. Yet here she stood, in all her week-morning glory with tectonic amounts of dry shampoo forming layers on her hair and the upper half of her legs unshaved. She hadn't even brushed her teeth yet. But here she was in the fluorescent glow of aisle twenty-eight with him leaning in and saying words like _cycle_ and _ovulation_ , with his large hands all over her packages of feminine products. Rey wasn't the type of person who was overly modest or prudish about bodily functions. Hell, she stripped for a living. But she didn't know him- all she knew of him was that he seemed not to like her very much. During the dreaded exam, he had hardly spoken to her. He hadn't made small talk or chatted with her about sports teams, upcoming weekend plans, or even the fucking weather. To her, this signaled that he had no interest in her as a person and could not be bothered with the normal pleasantries of conversation that would make her more comfortable, more relaxed, more ready for him to touch her.  
  
Rey tended to avoid medical offices at all costs, but the last time someone put a hand up her shirt in that setting, she at least knew their favorite football team, and that like her, they too were disappointed it was going to rain this weekend because they had planned on mountain biking or a picnic. Ben offered nothing- just a dark gaze and a taught jaw. He spoke in commands and gave orders. _Straight to bed!_ _Remove that!_ _Breathe!_ A muscle had twitched in his jaw like a tripwire and she felt she was in danger of setting it off. She knew nothing about him at all. He stared at her from across the distance of two shopping carts, and Rey realized it had been a while since she had last spoken-lost in her thoughts and most recent memories. She shook her head a little as if to clear some of the noxious fog that seemed to develop in her head when he was around.  
“What are you doing here? She asked, knowing already that it was a stupid question but just trying to fill the empty air.  
“Grocery shopping.” He informed looking at her like he wondered if she was truly well. “That should be obvious.”  
  
She had been so preoccupied with the strewn feminine hygiene products on the floor, that she had forgotten to peek in his cart, which she did now for the first time. His buggy contained mostly groceries, the kind that she always wanted to buy but couldn’t- those expensive pre-bottled smoothies, and fancy organic nut bars. But what really caught her eye was the huge bottle of astroglide and a large box of condoms with assorted textures- ribbed and studded for "stimulation where it counts". Her eyebrows arched in amusement. Maybe she was the one who was a wet mess- radiating hormones like nuclear fallout in her muddy boots- but it was him who was obviously a sex fiend.  
  
“For stimulation- where it counts.” She remarked, a little smirk upturning her lips as she read the text on the box. He looked confused, but only for a moment as he followed the direction of her stare and peered down into the cart as if he had forgotten the X-rated items it contained. She swore she saw that same tripwire muscle pulse deep in his jaw.  
“Oh, it’s for a prank.”  
She blinked at him. “A sex prank?” This was just getting _better_.  
“One of the residents just got a girlfriend. We were, uh- going to flood his locker with sex stuff.”  
Her small smirk devolved into an all-out leer. Now, she did know something about Ben Solo- that he had the apparent humor of a pubescent 15-year-old. “Mature…” She noted, drawing out the word and letting her voice trail off to show she thought the joke was anything but.  
  
She couldn't really believe the words that escaped her mouth next. “You should get him something they can actually use. Astroglide sucks.” She remarked her tone snide as she passed judgment on his erotic selections. He blinked but didn't falter- his dark gaze fixed on hers. “Is there something, in particular, _you_ would recommend?”  
  
No, no, no. This was not the direction the conversation was supposed to take. How had he managed to steer things back to her? He was supposed to sputter something in denial, unconvincing and embarrassed. She could roll her eyes and laugh at him, then wave and glide away to the checkout area. The exchange would be her victory. Why did he provoke this incessant urge, the irrepressible need, within her to have wittier retorts and smarter remarks? With most people, she was not afraid to admit inexperience, ineptitude, or incorrectness.  
But Solo- with his disheveled hair, broad shoulders, and fascinatingly angled face- he made her want to arm herself to the teeth. Possibly, for fear if she didn't she might too easily surrender.   
She huffed, “How about a gift card- so he can pick out something he actually likes?”  
“Not the same effect when he opens his locker.” He shook his head, sending black tendrils flying. “What you are suggesting is just a present.”  
  
A silence settled over aisle twenty-eight, and finally, Ben lightly rammed her cart with his own as if to jostle her back to attention. “Do you have that follow-up scheduled?”  
She didn’t. She’d stared at the number she was supposed to call a couple of times. She wasn’t entirely sure why she was avoiding it- maybe because he had said the word _ultrasound_ and that sounded expensive. Stripping didn’t provide health insurance, and the student plan she had through the community college covered only the bare minimum. She was already having to pay double what she was used to in rent since Myra had packed up and moved to Seattle. She hadn’t yet found another roommate to split the cost.  
“Yeah.” She lied, the fib sliding through her lips easily. “I feel fine.”  
Rey had been told on multiple occasions that she was a bad liar-something she’d always taken as a sort of compliment for her usual authentic honesty. She hoped he couldn’t tell that she was lying through her teeth, pushing the little untruth towards him with a small smile. “You feel fine because of the antibiotics- but that doesn’t mean the infection has completely cleared.” He maneuvered his cart so that it was side to side with hers, as if he were taking a closer look at her. Even from this distance, she felt his tall frame tower over her. Rey was unable to look around or through his solid build- unable to avoid an encompassing darkness threatening to surround her. From here, she could see his earthen eyes grow more obsidian and less amber as he regarded her with suspicion.  
  
“I’m going to look in your chart to make sure you go to the follow-up.”  
She peered at him, revulsion at his threat narrowing her gaze. “I don’t want you to do that.” H  
He shrugged, an insolent motion in which his large shoulders climbed up each side of his neck. “I don’t see how you could stop me.”  
Her gaze narrowed further, and she cocked her head a little. “I could call medical records and tell them I don't want you going in my chart. Or I could request to see everyone who's looked at my record.”  
Ben chuckled, the sound deep and reverberating. “For someone who can't even call to make an appointment? All that seems like a lot of effort.”  
She nudged her cart into his in an attempt to push past him, but it didn't budge. “It would be worth it if it meant you wouldn't spy on me.”  
  
He scowled down into the contents of her cart, now his turn to judge what she was purchasing. “All the Ben and Jerrys in the world won’t fix rheumatic heart disease, Rey.”  
She stared down at her numerous tubs of Cherry Garcia and was about to make some smart quip about how she didn’t have whatever-the-hell he just mentioned, but his phone began ringing. He dug it out of his pocket and answered.  
“Organa-Solo. Yeah, this is Ben-” He was still blocking her way, his massive frame and his shopping cart taking up the whole aisle. She attempted to maneuver past him- ready to escape through the checkout area with her ice cream and tampons.  
A large hand reached out and grasped her arm- holding her in place. She blinked up at him in surprised annoyance, wriggling.  
“Let me go!” She hissed; voice almost inaudible.  
Ben manipulated the iPhone so that it was pinned between his cheek and his shoulder and continued speaking. “No, I’m off. I signed out to Zuri.” His grasp tightened around her arm, which held her rooted to the spot. His free hand came to her forehead, and he pressed his palm against her skin, feeling the area for heat. “Jesus- I thought I attested that note.”  
She was so shocked by the gesture, that she stilled, momentarily forgetting her attempt to squirm away from him. When he was satisfied that she was afebrile, his grip loosened, and his hand dropped from her face before securing his phone once more. He stepped towards her, leaving only centimeters of linoleum between the toes of their shoes.  
“Schedule that follow up Rey.” He commanded, his voice low and away from the receiver, almost a murmur into the top of her head.  
Abruptly, he brushed past her, as if he had been spurred off by a bad smell. But he turned back, strands of black hair obstructing the dark stare she knew had settled back on her.  
  
“And for fuck’s sake get yourself something to eat other than ice cream.”  
  
Before Rey could think of any response, he was gone- three long strides carrying him out of eyesight.  
  


* * *


	5. Desperado

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to the few folks who have left me a comment or kudos. It really means the world that someone has enjoyed my little quarantine story that has been brewing in my head for so long. 
> 
> hope you are all well 
> 
> -MF

_You are such a fucking creep_. Ben thought to himself as he shouldered in the door to the Crazy Horse Club. He didn’t know any other doctors who tracked down their patients, where they worked, to drag them back for a follow-up. But he also didn’t know anyone stupid enough to risk cardiac damage by not attending the goddamn appointment. He had looked Rey up on his work computer, ready to personally review the radiological study of her heart, only to find that she did not attend. In a moment of exasperation, combined with above-average cardiovascular knowledge and night shift delirium he had extracted his phone from his pocket.   
  
**Your friend** \- he texted to Myra, the girl he had called for her a week ago in the ER. **Didn’t go to her follow up appointment - B**   
After only a few minutes of feeling insane and watching the dance of the grey dots at the bottom of his phone screen, a reply came in   
**Fuck- M**   
His fingers were swift in response.   
**She needs to reschedule ASAP to determine if there is any cardiac damage from the strep infection- B**   
A particular long pause but then: **You won’t believe this- but I actually just moved to Seattle. I’m not with Rey at the moment but I call her and give her hell until she answers- M**   
Ben could feel his face contorting- reacting to the news that Rey’s only apparent support system had moved over a thousand miles away. Now, she was down a damn good emergency contact.   
**She’s not back to work yet is she? -B**   
There was almost no time to ponder the undulating bubbles.   
**She told me you cleared her to go back to work tonight- M**   
  
That enraged him. He was seeing red and he seethed into the screenlight.   
**That was a lie -B**   
**She won’t pick up. She’s working tonight. Maybe you could talk her into the appointment- M**   
  
Ben sighed, exasperated. _Why wouldn't she just fucking take care of herself?_ At twenty-five, she was too young to ruin her life- too young to sustain complications from which she couldn’t recover. Of course, as she narrowed those unnervingly green eyes at him, passing silent judgment in the supermarket, she didn’t know how spectacularly he had self-destructed when he was her age. She probably thought that because he was a doctor his life was orderly. It was- but only after shattering and then being piece by painstaking piece glued back together. But it would never recover- not fully. His life was a big scar that he treated constantly to make sure it stayed healed. It could have festered so easily, infected with the poisonous promise of what could have been, what potential he once had. She didn’t know this, but he had ignored everyone who cautioned him about cocaine, just like she was ignoring him, right now. Stupid and self-assured, he disregarded the precious few warnings he had gotten. Addiction was something that happened to other people.   
  
Although her face was soft and open, Ben has seen something hard in her- a toughness, a self-sufficiency that he knew came from being alone. He didn’t know where her parents were or where the rest of her family was located. England, he guessed, by the crispness in her accent. He wondered if anyone had ever taken care of her- even for a little while. He would try. And she would hate him for it. For being an un-silenceable alarm, flashing right in her face, refusing to stop until she made the correct choices. But she had too much life in front of her to potentially lose everything for something as stupid and preventable as rheumatic heart disease. It pissed him off that she didn’t see that. _Are all young people this stupid nowadays?_   
  
His fingers ghosted over the keyboard- responding to Myra.   
**Drop me a pin-B**   
And now he was here, on the south side of the strip, halfway to Sloan Canyon, _for Chirstsake_ , in some pathetic black ops mission to convince a wide-eyed girl to take her health a little more seriously. The strobing lights burned at the back of his retinas and he felt a migraine forming in the front of his face from the pulsing music. Someone should award him a Nobel peace prize for all this effort. Or at least a fucking drink. What a disappointment it had been to learn, all those years ago, that getting sober meant giving up alcohol in addition to the nose candy. As if on cue, a girl in what could only be generously classified as a bikini scampered up to him. The nametag that hung of one of her straps proclaimed “Kathryn!”   
“What’s your poison?” She asked, grinning at him.   
_Blow,_ he couldn’t help but think to himself, but he made sure the answer that left his lips was more appropriate. “Diet Coke?”   
The girl shot him a peculiar glance. “With what whiskey? Wild Turkey? Jack Daniels?” She offered, attempting to be helpful.   
He shook his head, pressing a hand to his throbbing temple. Just a few seconds in the place and he was already developing a raging migraine. “No whiskey. Just the soda.”   
He scanned the crowd- the men in suits, the bachelor parties, and the women that wore almost nothing which they surrounded. He didn’t see her, not on any of the numerous platforms, stage, or poles. Why was he so relieved? Maybe she had gotten serious about taking his advice. Perhaps, Myra was all wrong about her having gone back to work. He could see her now, curled up in bed, surrounded by tubs of ice cream, those disgustingly tattered pajama shorts clinging slightly to the widest part of her hips- some vapid TV show playing in the background.   
  
He took another glance around the large room, as he willed his knee to stop jackhammering the tabletop. No sign of Rey. He should just go- Ben thought to himself. He knew better than most everyone that second chances were few and far between- this was an ex-Machina escape hatch provided, mercifully, by whatever gods there might be, to save him from the embarrassment of explaining what he was _actually_ doing here. But before he could rise from his seat, the waitress returned and handed him his drink, smiling.   
“Interesting choice.”He handed her a random bill from his wallet. When he saw her eyes widen as she pocketed it, he knew it must have been a twenty of a fifty.   
“I’m looking for someone.” He told her, swirling the diet coke around as if it were whisky in the small glass.   
Kathryn raised her eyebrows. “Oh, we can’t-”   
He didn’t want to hear her protest- he wanted to find her, his patient, Rey. He held out another bill and Kathryn took it quickly as if she were afraid he would change his mind.   
“Who are you looking for?” She whispered, adding quickly, “And are you her ex?”   
Ben held up his hands. He was not guilty of stalking. Okay well, he sort of was. “I’m looking for Rey Johnson. And I’m not her ex.”   
“Well, then who are you?”   
Ben retrieved his hospital badge from his wallet and offered it to the waitress. He felt like he was in a cheesy cop show, flashing the golden star that would unlock all doors and remove all resistance.   
“I’m a doctor.”   
Kathryn’s eyes widened “Oh my god- is she pregnant?” She began shaking her head, apologizing. “Sorry, I know you can’t tell me. Confidentiality.”   
Ben couldn’t help but look surprised at her immediate suggestion. “Yes, to confidentiality. But no, I don’t think she’s pregnant.”   
  
The waitress turned away from him as she spoke into her headset- like he couldn’t still hear her.“Which stage is Rey? Is she- uh-huh? Okay, thanks.” She spun back around to face him, hand over the receiver of the headset. “You’re in luck. She’s up next.”   
Again, he felt his hands rising into the air, trying to make this waitress understand “No, I don’t want to watch her. I just need to _talk_ to her.”   
“Sorry, she’s up. Like now.” Kathryn motioned towards the stage. You can talk to her afterward- if she’ll let you.”   
“How long does this last?” Ben yelled, annoyed, as his voice was drowned out by the hissing of multiple smoke machines. The room, once dark, was abruptly bathed in blood red. Fog rolled out over the platform and descended down the edges, creeping across the floor and over the top of his shoes.   
“Enjoy.” Kathryn quipped, ignoring his question and giving him a wink. “Ruby Rey-n. She’s quite a show.”   
  
Letters, large and bold like the print in an old wanted ad flashed across the stage.   
R U B Y R E I N R U B Y R E I N R U B Y R E I N   
  
What the fuck was this? The music began to fade in, an eerie, dark reverberating hum. He’d heard this song before. Rihanna. A woman appeared on stage, her undeniably curvaceous silhouette black against the crimson back-lighting. She was leaning up against the wall, a foot resting back behind her. A cowboy hat was drawn low across her head, obscuring her face, while an elegant hand reached up to touch the brim. There was a sudden transformation in the rhythm and the bass began to pound heavily. The lighting shot upwards and the woman was no longer just a dark outline, her tanned flesh illuminated by the stage lights. She tossed the cowboy hat into the crowd and dropped into an unexpected split, her toned legs sliding against the clear platform in an acrobatic demonstration of her flexibility. _Desperado_   
Her breasts were encased in an intricately stitched black leather bra, complete with matching underwear. Her toned stomach was bare, except for the light dusting of iridescent glitter that coated her skin. She wore knee-high snakeskin boots that wrapped, rather deliciously around her muscular calves.   
_Sitting in an old Monte Carlo_   
Defying gravity, she rose and dipped up and back down to the ground, twirling and swaying, ass shaking against those leather panties. Somehow, all of it was graceful in a way he could not imagine moving his own body.   
_A man whose heart is hollow_   
She wore a long red wig, with face-framing fringe, and the hair flew wildly as she moved across the stage.   
_Take it easy_   
But those eyes, those unnerving emerald eyes, could not be disguised- not even with an obscene amount of black liner and those gaudy glued-on eyelashes.   
  
It was her. The same shaking girl in a ratty reindeer sweater. It was Rey.   
_I'm not tryna go against you_   
Here, she was all legs and leather. All smoke and sex. All confidence and coordination.   
_Actually, I'm going with ya_   
Her piquant hips rocked like a seesaw from one side to the other, extending and then shortening, creating a mouthwatering tempo that displayed her curves.   
_Gotta get up out of here and you ain't leaving me behind_   
Her whole figure was an endless wave of alluring motion- all curves and circles.   
_I know you won't, 'cause we share common interests_   
Her chest expanded and then collapsed to the beat of the song, caving and rising again- dying and then coming back to life.   
_You need me, there ain't no leaving me behind_   
  
He couldn’t help but watch, mesmerized by the motion of her body as she twirled around the metal pole that spouted from the ceiling. She held on with her thighs, spinning around, like an erotic ballerina in a snow globe, arms in an elegant extension.   
_Never, no, no, just want outta here, yeah, once I'm gone, ain't no going back_   
He felt his forearms bracing against armrests of the leather seat and his fists had a death grip on the edge of the chair as he continued to watch her move. Why was he holding on for dear life?   
_If you want, we could be runaways_   
She was on the floor again, on all fours this time- fucking _crawling_ to the beat. Somehow, she infused the hand and knees movement with enough rhythm that it remained a dance, her ass bouncing with the animalistic gait. She was close enough to him that he could see her talons, long, fake, nails scraping against the platform.   
_Running from any sight of love_   
  
Then, he was sure that she spotted him. From underneath her red bangs and giant lashes, her eyes flashed to his and recognition rippled across her face. It was only split a second- but Ben was sure she had just stared straight into his soul.   
_There ain't nothing here for me_   
She _almost_ missed a beat, her hand hovering just above the stage. She recovered quickly, and instead of placing her palm to the floor to continue her crawl, she used the pause to clutch at her chest. In a swift and practiced motion and she tore the leather bra from her chest and tossed it into the crowd. The room erupted in cheers and catcalls. Bills rained down on the stage, littering the clear platform with cash as her now bare breasts swung slightly as she continued to move.   
_There ain't nothing here for me anymore_   
  
He couldn’t do this any longer. He couldn’t watch this. He couldn’t watch her display herself for all these sick people who weren’t here to warn her about myocardial damage. He couldn’t watch them throw money at her, marvel at her- want her. Not that it wasn’t something to marvel at.   
_Dear desperado_   
He took a last sip of soda and stood from his seat. He made it all the way to the exit without looking back but paused in the doorframe as the music ended. She was on the pole again, extended, completely upside-down, feet pointed towards the ceiling.   
_Yeah, I don't wanna be alone_ As suddenly as she had split on the opening note, her muscles loosened their grip, and her body dropped to the bottom of the pole. Gasps erupted from the crowd in enthralled surprise, but her practiced thighs clenched at just the right moment that she came to a jolting stop, her head only centimeters from the floor. She held herself here, at the base of the pole- her spine aligned with the metal bar, her long, red hair scraping the floor and her chest heaving with exertion, ribs rising and falling. She smiled up to the ceiling as if it were her lover, her teeth glowing slightly from the blacklight. Her skin glistened with the lightest coating of sweat.   
_I don’t wanna be alone_   
Money flew all around her like a swarm of locusts. Bills poured down upon her body like a rainstorm. She was bathing in it. She was breathless. Spent. He was winded, and he hadn’t moved. His heart pounding in his chest. Guarding himself against the reaction that watching her body had produced in his own. She was _so_ fucking beautiful.   
  
_I don't wanna be alone_


End file.
